rECYCLED
by Penname wa Silver B
Summary: After a great war racked the Irken Empire, expenses had to be cut, and the Paks of dead soldiers had to be reused. A century later, this raises an important question: can a personality be recycled? OCaTR femslash.


(A/N: Where to begin... well, this story came to me in a dream in all its oddity. So of course I had to write it, I mean, if people didn't write down their dreams, where would this world be? It'd be a lot less interesting, that's what. Or where. Anyway. This story doesn't take place with the main cast. You'll definitely be seeing them, but as this is set in the future, they'll definitely be... changed. Some more than others. You may not even recognize some at first. Nonetheless, I intend to keep this as Zimmish-feeling as possible. So please, enjoy :) And don't be a homophobe. It'll be easier to enjoy it that way.

Disclaimer: I disclaim already! Invader Zim belongs to the two V's, Vasquez and Viacom. Does my name start with a V? No. No, it does not.)

* * *

**rECYCLED**

**pROLOGUE**

The sky was acrid and gray with smoke, the air choked with rot. Two Irkens pushed their way through a sea of metal rubble and Irken cadavers, pausing to turn each body over and check the metal pod on its back for damage. When they found a Pak intact, they added it to the small cart they hauled behind them and continued on, the wheels' rattles echoing off the dismal remains of the battlefield.

The taller Irken was Wat, with a long, uneven head shape. His sightless eyes were obscured by a diseased yellow film. His skin was sickly yellow-green, and his antennae sloped off his head, too weak and broken to hold their own weight. His hands bore deep, oozing cuts from feeling his way around sharp-edged debris.

Behind Wat was a shorter Irken, Nugg. Insanely short; his squashed head indicated he'd once been a table-headed service drone, the lowest rank possible in Irken society. He hauled the cart and did his best to help his blind friend navigate the treacherous landscape. Both Irkens wore maroon rags, torn and faded from the proud red of traditional Irken garb.

They were getting into an area with less corpses and more metal, now. The remains of more elite warriors, who'd had their own fighting machines; lesser soldiers fought body-to-body. This made it harder to dig for Paks, but the two persevered with the stoutness of desperation. A shred of red cloth caught Nugg's eye. He dropped the handle by which he'd been dragging the cart and darted over, pressing his hands against the gleaming metal chunk the cloth was caught beneath.

"I think there's something here," he alerted. Wat's broken antennae niggled slightly at his voice, and he found his way over.

"Think you're right," he agreed with an investigative sniff. His hands felt their way down Nugg's arms and placed over Nugg's own hands, so small beneath his palms. Nugg slipped his hands free and backed away. Wat braced himself and began to heave. Gradually, the metal blockade shifted, then clattered off altogether, revealing a makeshift shelter from long debris stacked together. Lying neatly inside was a corpse. Nugg ran over to give it a once-over.

"Looks like an Invader," he described, taking in the unmistakable uniform. He shuddered, noting that the Irken had died with a broad grin on his face. The eyes had collapsed and the skin drawn back from the teeth with decay, making an already demented expression all the more frightening. "Gah, I don't like that smile..." Wat pushed past the smaller and lifted the corpse out by the armpits. Flipping it over, he felt his way to the base of the Pak and detached it, then weighed it in his hands carefully.

"Heavy," he announced, voice changing slightly as his own Pak directed him to be informative. "Lots of upgrades, memory." He felt the surface carefully. "Three-spotted; they switched to four-spotted a while ago, so Irken would have been about middle-aged. No major damage or irregularities."

"Great," Nugg breathed, mouth spreading into a grin of his own as he took the Pak from Wat and laid it down gently amongst the others in the cart. "Should be able to get 30,000 monies for this one, easy." Wat smiled, too, his tooth-ridges discolored and cracked.

"A defective could live on that," he chuckled bitterly. "Just got to make sure the government buyers don't get a good look at us, huh?" Nugg nodded and jerked the cart forward with a grunt. Wat stepped forward and put on the hand on the cart, stopping it and sending Nugg tumbling backward.

"Nah, let's rest," he decided. "My tendons hurt, and yours can't be doing any better with that damn cart to pull. We're going to be rich Irkens soon, Nugg... we deserve a break." Nugg beamed, uh-huh'd, and rushed to join his friend in resting their weary bones against the rubble.

* * *

**cHAPTER oNE - uNEXPECTED vISITOR**

Jad wondered what it would have been like to be an Invader, back when being an Invader was almost as good as being Tallest. Fame and glory and all kinds of accolades! Only 30 of the greatest, smartest Irkens ever to live awarded such a position! She grinned slightly at the thought, running a sparking instrument over the mechanical insides of her latest project. Yes, that sure would have been the life. Back during Operating: Impending Doom II (they never told you what became of Operation: Impending Doom I), the start of the Irken Empire's crushing reign over an unsuspecting universe. After conquering the known universe over a century earlier, the Empire had initiated Operation: Continuing Doom, a movement to conquer the UNknown universe. Thousands of Irkens, speed-trained and let loose in small ships, to conquer any sign of life they found. Turned out there were infinitely more occupied planets than they could ever have imagined, and Irken greed dictated they conquer them all, so that even more than a hundred years later they were still at it.

With thousands of Invaders today, of course it was no longer the envied position it had been when there were only thirty. But even so, Jad loved being one. Not because it helped the Empire, but because of that little thrill that came from knowing she was instrumental in subjugating and destroying an entire species. She chortled and closed the panel over her project's insides, then stepped back to admire it.

Her own invention; she called it an "explodey pod". True to the name, all one had to do was step inside and KA-BOOM! It brought her all kinds of sinister glee to think about. All she had to do was figure out a way to get the inhabitants of her assigned planet TO step inside. She grimaced; oh, how she HATED them.

Dogorm: assigned planet of Invader Jad, and possibly the weirdest discovered yet. Well, the planet itself wasn't that odd, or even remarkable - just a ball of gray-green granite. No, it was the denizens of that planet which boggled the mind. They were just five-foot obelisks of the very granite which composed their planet; no organs, nothing. The only features they had were "eyes", bright blue upside-down triangles of gem, arranged themselves like an upside-down triangle, one at each angle. The eye-jewels were expressionless, and creepy as hell if they caught you in their vacant gaze. And yet, in spite of having no organs or limbs at all, the Dogormods moved around and manipulated the environment around them like any other living creature, and spoke by vibrating and producing a resonating rumble. They seemed to eat by absorbing the stone beneath them; they died, even mated. Yet no matter how hard she tried, Jad couldn't for her own life figure out how THEY lived. It infuriated her. And that was only the first thing wrong with them.

The second thing was their houses. Unlike themselves, the Dogormods' homes were organic, and were they ever - big, quivering, sweating masses of reddish pink flesh, with numerous intestine-like tubes spread out around them, providing entrance into their humid insides. On a planet of uninterrupted rock, Jad at first couldn't begin to figure out where they came from, how they accumulated enough liquid to sweat like they did. Eventually, she found they had "roots" - stringy, sinewy things, reaching down through cracks in the ground, down for almost a mile, until they reached natural fluid in the planet's insides, and sucked it up. They even reproduced by spewing out mucus-choked packets of embryos, which slithered apart and traveled for miles until they found a suitable lifelong nesting ground. Then a Dogormod would push inside through the intestinal tubes and take up residence. It was horrible, grotesque, unfathomably WRONG, and worst of all, to blend in she had to move inside one of the abominations herself. Fortunately, inside she had built a mechanical Invader-style base, and installed several atmospheric purifiers so she wouldn't have to breathe in the gag-inducing stink. Still, it was so screwed-up, it almost angered her - inorganic things, living in organic houses. Ohhh! She couldn't WAIT to watch the Massive's organic (inorganic?) sweep of the planet when she finally conquered it, and see those horrible houses explode in bloody bursts, the fleeing stone people crumbling to dust as they reverberated low screams. She laughed at the fantasy and tugged on her disguise.

Her "disguise" wasn't elaborate - but then, aliens seldom paid enough attention that Invader disguises needed to be. It resembled a baggy green ski mask, with triangles cut out to see through, and to mimic the Dogormods' features. Fortunately, Dogormods apparently couldn't see well.

"SpU!" she hollered. "SpU, we're going out! Get over here!" Obediently, a small pile of unrecognizably mangled machinery peeled itself from its resting place in a nearby corner and skittered over. Jad dropped a larger ski mask disguise over it.

"I'm going to have to fix you one of these days," she muttered as an afterthought, starting out through the exit tube. It was just one of the house-creature's intestines, lined with machinery to keep its fetid sweat from oozing onto her, though some crept through in spite of it. SpU followed close behind, sparking dangerously and catching its disguise aflame. Fortunately, a great glob of gooey sweat dropped down and put it out before Jad noticed.

Outside, the sky was brilliant orange (a thick fog illuminated by a hot sun) in contrast to the cool greenish gray of the ground and people. Pink blobs of houses pulsated all around, arranged in inward-facing, lopsided circles; they were living creatures, static as they were, and they seemed to prefer company. Meanwhile, the Dogormod people scraped along across the ground, moved by an unknown force, greeting each other with rumbles as they passed. Jad's Pak translated the rumbles:

"Hi."

"How are you?"

"I'm feeling poorly surfaced today."

"Does your house vomit as much as mine?"

"My offspring should reproduce."

"I long for a good growing spot."

And so on. Once you became accustomed to its alien nature, Dogormod conversation was overwhelmingly boring. As unique as they themselves were, the Dogormods had to be among the uncreative species Jad had ever known. She gritted her teeth and commanded her Pak to shut them out for the time being. Taking care to avoid the Dogormods around her (particularly the one with a thick chunk of dry house-vomit on it), partly in interest of not being crushed by their heavy bulk, partly because she despised them, Jad found what looked like a good place to stand and announce stuff. SpU circled her a few times, then collapsed.

"FELLOW DOGORMODS!" she shouted, Pak directing her to translate accordingly. The Dogormods stopped their pointless meandering and swiveled in her direction. She shivered at their unmoving stares all on her, but continued. "Do... uh... doooo..." Crud. She hadn't thought this far ahead. How to trick them to step inside in her explodey pod... The Dogormod with a patch of dry vomit on it caught her eye.

"...DOES! Does your house vomit?" she asked. The ensuing agreeing rumbles made her grin; bulls-eye. She continued with all the false empathy of an expert salesman. "Having trouble with those vomit stains? Insulted by family? Shunned by friends? Rejected by potential mating partners?"

"Yes, yes, YES!" cried the Dogormod with the prominent vomit stain, shaking desperately. "It's like you know me!!" It was rare to get a Dogormod so worked up, and it was causing positive ripples throughout the crowd. Encouraged, Jad went on.

"Having trouble getting clean? Rolling around on the ground like a FILTHY ROCK-BEAST just not cutting it?"

"YES!! WHAT DO I DO??" the vomit-stained Dogormod begged, completely missing the blatant insult.

"Then try my new get-rid-of-vomit-er! It'll get rid of that vomit! ...and did I mention it absolutely WON'T cause you to explode into many little pieces?" she added patronizingly.

"Now that sounds like a bargain!" piped up someone in the crowd. Murmurs indicated most everyone agreed.

"Then FOLLOW ME!" Jad commanded, starting back toward her house. With their equivalent of cheering, the Dogormods followed. Perfect! It was all going as planned... well, as far as she'd planned anyway. It occured to her that exploding Dogormods into many little pieces really didn't have much at all to do with subjugating the planet for future conquest, but the idea was sure appealing anyway.

And then something fell from the sky into the crowd, hitting the ground with enough force to knock the Dogormods over like dominos. Narrowly avoiding getting squashed by a falling rock-person, Jad glared at whatever had ruined her perfect sort-of plan.

It was... a ship? An IRKEN ship! Invader design, no less. Jad climbed over the fallen rock aliens and scurried over to get a better look.

Getting closer, Jad saw that it wasn't just ANY Invader ship - it was an elite. Whoever owned it had conquered many planets in their day. She thrilled at the thought; Dogorm was only her first assignment. Sadly, the beautiful spacecraft was badly banged up in the collision.

It presently occured to her that an elite Invader ship would have to have an elite Invader inside. Excitement building, she issued a metal arm from her Pak, hooked it on the edge of the windshield, and pried it open. Who she saw lying unconscious within made her gasp.

"Elite Invader TAK?"

* * *

Tak groaned and pressed one gloved claw to her forehead. She'd obviously underestimated the gravity pull of the planet... The feeling of something other than the texture of her ship's seat against her underside made her eyes shoot open. 

"This isn't my ship," she murmured aloud (traveling alone for a long time made one more prone to doing that), taking in the strange base around her.

"It sure isn't!" A small Irken popped up, making Tak jump. The tiny stranger saluted her enthusiastically. "You're in my base, Elite Invader Tak, MA'AM! Your ship crashed into the surface of my assigned planet, so I did my duty as a lesser Invader and took you in for required medical attention! You ship's in the repair bay," she finished, thumbing in its direction. Tak nodded slowly, taking in the little Irken woman in front of her - which she apparently was, though her antennae were barely curled and her eye-fringes hardly worth noting. She had squarish dark green eyes and a matching Invader uniform, and skin almost as dark.

"An Invader?" Tak repeated, sitting up on the comfortably cushioned operating table her lesser had placed her on. "I was under the impression all green-eyes were pilots."

"Heh, well, I _was_ genetically programmed to be a pilot, ma'am... but I had to be an Invader, you see. I HAD TO."

"And the officials allowed it?" she asked.

"Well, I may have... CONVINCED them a little," the smaller admitted with a mysterious chuckle, twiddling her thumbs. Tak quirked a brow and stood to her full height, which the shorter Irken gaped at. She was over twice her inferior's height, easily reaching the chest of their current Tallest; she hadn't gained her position with just lots of hard work, though there had been plenty of that, too.

"What's your name?" Tak requested. The shorter smacked her forehead in another exaggerated salute.

"Invader Jad, assigned of Planet Dogorm, MA'AM!" she stated overeagerly.

"Dogorm, hm?" Tak looked around. "So that's where I am."

"Yes," Jad nodded. "If I may, what are you doing here, ma'am?"

"Well, I didn't turn up here intentionally," Tak muttered. "It seems I caught the attention of a few angry rebels on my way to the Massive. I had to cut to hyperdrive to lose them, and I couldn't slow down. I was running out of energy, to boot, so I knew I had to land on an inhabited planet or I'd be stranded. Dogorm was nearby, apparently... so that's where I ended up." She noticed the smaller Invader had been hanging on to her every word and smiled slightly.

"How old are you, Jad?" she wondered.

"Exactly 100.45 years, MA'AM!" she saluted. Tak couldn't help but laugh.

"Little more than a smeet, and already an Invader? I'm impressed," she said. Jad puffed up proudly at the compliment, which made Tak laugh more, then groan at a pain in her back from the rough landing.

"Are you alright, ma'am?" Jad quested with immediate concern.

"Fine, Jad... and you can stop calling me ma'am," she added.

"Alright, ma - err, alright," she said sheepishly.

"I'm feeling a little peaked after all that," Tak mentioned, stretching carefully. "Get me a drink."

"Right away!" Jad was off and back again in a flash with a pouch of Fun-Juice. Tak took it and downed it swiftly, parched.

"That was fast," she commented, giving the empty pouch back to Jad to dispose of. "Well, your age explains your height, anyway... I'm sorry, but you are one of the shortest Irkens I've seen. Don't worry, I'm sure you'll hit a growth spurt any day now."

"Thank-you ma'a - " Jad replied, barely catching herself as she took the trash. Tak smiled again and watched the smaller Invader as she turned and deposited it down a trash chute.

"You have an old Pak for such a young Irken," Tak commented. "I assume you're a recycled?"

"Err, I am," Jad nodded, not sure what to make of the comment. Tak settled back comfortably, staring off at the wall.

"I feel old," she remarked. "I still remember when the Empire was debating whether or not Paks should be recycled. Of course it was all up to the Tallest anyway, but that didn't stop people from arguing over it." Tak paused. "The counterargument was that it's not really possible to completely erase files, so that a Pak's original personality can never really be erased. But after the war, we had to save expenses where we could, so there wasn't really much of a choice." Tak chuckled. "Isn't it funny, though? You could have the Pak of someone I used to know."

"I assure you, Elite Invader Tak, my personality is ENTIRELY my own," Jad asserted stiffly.

"I'm sure it is," Tak agreed. "There's no reason the new personality couldn't entirely override whatever vestiges the old left. Anyway, what's done is done." With that, she sighed and lie back comfortably. "About how extensive is the damage to my ship?"

"Nothing my repair bay can't fix!" Jad replied proudly. "But the skeleton is pretty banged up. I'd say it would take a few days to repair it."

"Ah, well. I've been on worse planets... I can stay that long," Tak determined, staring up at the ceiling. Jad grinned. She'd lied; her repair bay could get the job done in half that time. But Tak was the most renowned of all Invaders, the one who'd inspired Operation: Continuing Doom itself after her successful conquest of Earth. Not to mention, tall, intelligent... and downright sexy. Who could blame Jad for wanting to keep Tak for herself for a while?

Jad's personal delights were broken by Tak's startled cry.

"What _is_ that?" she hissed, eyes on the mutilated junk zipping around her table.

"That? Well, it... _was_... my SIR unit," Jad answered, kicking the junk-pile aside. "Then there was accident involving a native of this planet and a sun-powered catapault and... it didn't end well for SpU. 'Special Unit', that is."

"Special indeed." Tak shot Jad a stern glare. "I'm disappointed. An Invader's SIR Unit is a key element in her attempts at world conquest, and must be kept in prime shape. I made my own SIR Unit, MiMi (Mind-controller Minion) from scratch nearly 150 years ago, and she's still good as new today." Jad winced and bowed her head in shame.

"I'm sorry, Superior," she apologized, scraping the ground with her foot nervously. "I have tried to fix him, I really have, but every time I do, he, well... explodes."

"Explodes?" Tak repeated incredulously.

"Yep, big fire, little pieces all over. I'm not sure why, but it only makes it worse. I tried a few long-distance reparation inventions (of my own design, of course, heh), but they didn't help. I gave up a while ago. But somehow he manages to function alright, so it doesn't matter."

"Hm." Tak studied the sparking mess now spasming in a nearby corner. "Well... I'll be here a while. I suppose I could fix him while I'm here - maybe you'll learn something, Inferior. And while I'm at it, let's see if I can't give you some advice on the best ways to conquer this alien scumhole."

"Really?" Jad gasped, perking up noticeably. "Oh, THANK you Elite Invader Tak! I won't let you down, ma'am! I mean, er..."

Tak laughed gently and patted Jad on the head. "That's alright. I think I'll enjoy my time here."

* * *

(R&R! Read and 'rithmetic - I mean, review.) 


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